Midnight
by andrastaie
Summary: Hawke followed through on her plans involving Knight-Captain Cullen and now finds herself in a bit of a predicament.


Darkness surrounded and filled the room leaving an oppressive presence lingering in every corner. Hawke blinked against it as she stirred, eyes struggling to adjust. Slowly, an unfamiliar room unfurled before her. It took several long, very long, seconds to place it. All of it. However, when the memories did resurface, her eyes widened in horror.

"Shit," she hissed under her breath. _Carver is going to kill me_ was the first thing on her mind as she struggled to get enough of her bearings to escape the bed. And that proved to be far more difficult than she anticipated. As, in just the few seconds it took for her to decide to run, she ended up with a strong arm draped over her midsection.

 _Sweet Andraste, you've got to be kidding me. This is my punishment isn't it? You and your bride have a funny sense of humor, Maker._

So here she was; an apostate. And not just that, but in the Gallows. Laying naked in bed with a templar. And, of course, not just any templar, either. Oh Maker, that would be entirely too simple. No, it had to be the knight-captain himself.

While only quite enjoyable memories resonated in her mind - which left a pleasant tingle between her legs - it did not overrule her better sense. The better sense that she'd lacked earlier in the evening. _Carver was right_ , she repeated over and over in her head. Even as she shifted onto her back to stare up into the abyss of a ceiling above them, it was all she could think.

Hawke lost herself to her mantra. To the point that even in her head it sounded like a prayer. A hope that the Maker might actually be a merciful god and consider helping her out of this bind. Maybe with only a few problems to follow her around after. That would be nice. Hawke knew she could handle a few small problems.

Tipping her head to the side, she caught a glimpse of Cullen. Actually seeing him now for the first time since she'd awoken. The very faint light of the moon that filtered through the shit-for-window in his quarters cast enough of a glow where he seemed almost peaceful. Harmless. Like a mabari pup.

Hawke then came to a decision. One that, again, went against her better judgment. Yet it seemed her only way to escape this - to allow it to play out to it's conclusion. Preferably the happy, possibly pleasurable sort of conclusion she could live freely with.

After a small, steadying breath she reached out and ran her finger down the side of his face, brushing a few loose curls aside on the way. He stirred, eyes fluttering slightly as he began to come to. Hawke's stomach lurched, her heart beginning to hammer in her chest as she watched him. Not like she expected different, yet it was terrifying all the same. The unknown. The wonder at what was to come next.

The hand about her torso slid off as Cullen rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Propping up on his other elbow, he focused on her with a look of concern in his sleep-ridden features. He ran a hand along his forehead, then blinked at her again. Seeing through the darkness still proved a challenge, but with the dim light filtering in she could still make out his expression. It remained unchanged. The concern was obvious.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Hawke's mouth dropped open. Did _he_ wake _her_? Did he not just wake up because, like an idiot, she was touching him? Her brain began to churn through all the _possible_ ways he could be seriously considering that this current scenario was, somehow, his fault. Until, of course, she remembered he was expecting an answer.

"N-no. Not at all," she finally managed, offering him a small smile. "I was just… admiring the view." _And panicking over what an utter moron I am._

"Good."

He grinned. Her stomach did a flip. _What is it with these templars? How are they all so damn charming?_ She was convinced, immeasurably so, that had she not already been lacking in clothing. That damn smile of his would have just forced them off all over again.

Cullen leaned forward, their foreheads met and Hawke tried not to panic. The idiotic smile never left her lips as she reached her hand out to trace down the side of his face again. He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. All the while Hawke marveled at the simple power she seemed to wield with such a small thing. Her stomach flipped again at the thought of all she could _really_ do for him were he not a templar. The building, tingling heat at her core agreed.

She wiggled her way underneath him, tilting her head up to capture his lips in a languid kiss. Her hand shifted off his face, skirting over his neck to glide slowly around his shoulder and down the one arm. There was a faint, very gentle chuckle in the back of his throat as he returned her lazy kiss.

"You're not expected up for a few more hours yet, right?" she asked when they parted.

He grinned again, murmuring his answer as he leaned in for another kiss. And in him, she lost herself once more. Her mind reeled at the sensations that began to flood through her system. His hands over every inch of her body. Touch, testing, exploring everything laid bare before him. Almost as if he didn't believe she was real. Real, of course, she was as the hums of her approval slowly melted and morphed into moans and barely coherent prayers to the Maker in his name. Real she was as she writhed and wriggled under the expert touch.

Expert. _Maker, you certainly do something right by these templars._ Hawke's back arched up as Cullen slid down the length of her body, a tingling trail of kisses that came tantalizingly close to her desire. But she sat up before he reached his goal, pulling him up to her for a slow, deep kiss.

She ran a hand down his chest, tracing across every scar, curving around each muscle and reveling in the tickling sensation caused by the light blonde hair dusted across his chest. Hawke stifled a giggle at the feeling, her hand traveling down ever further until she wrapped her fingers around his cock. She hummed in her pleasure of finding him hard again. With a leisurely pace, she began to stroke up and down his length. He groaned into their kiss, a deep and throaty noise near to a growl. Hawke shivered right down to her center at the sound and sensation as it reverberated against her lips.

They parted and she panted, a gasp and a cry flying from her lips. " _Maker_." Her voice, thankfully, hitched in her throat. _Have mercy on me._

"Ashley."

The force of her name rolling off his lips nearly turned her into a puddle. Any regret she might have felt about sharing her name with him flew right out the measly window right then and there. He pulled her hand away, kissing the palm before pressing her back against the pillows. Hawke whimpered as, for the second time that night, he slid deep within her. Wriggling beneath him, she pressed her hips upward, begging for more and unable to retrain a low moan.

Cullen's forehead touched her shoulder as he complied, thrusting slow and deep. Each time he lingered, paused for a moment before his his would glide back and repeat the motion. Hawke's toes curled, eyes closing as she panted his name. Begged him, _prayed to him_.

Hawke began to buck up against him and his restraint broke. She fell over the edge, biting her lip to stifle the scream that tried to escape. He'd lifted his head, suckling on her neck until his own climax came. Teeth clashed against her skin and the strangled sounds of a pleasured cry managed to slip past her lips.

The world stilled for one long, precious moment before it came crashing down. The darkness returning in a rush and weighing heavily against her. Hawke clutched Cullen close, twisting and curling up against him as her broken mantra threatened to return and haunt her. He slipped out of her, but continued to hold her close. Protective and steadfast. The muffled gasp of her frustration at the loss trapped against his chest.

Sleep overcame her as she nestled against Cullen's chest. His strong arms keeping the darkness at bay as she lay in his embrace. Sure, the Maker would likely ensure her punished well and good for this later, but suddenly Hawke felt as if she could live with the consequences. Whatever they may be.

The levels of safety that welled up within her as she lay there - in the middle of the Gallows, in the embrace of a templar - were absurd. Yet her earlier feelings stayed at bay; chased off by their passions. By the security in her knowledge of being kept warm and, Maker, _protected_. For at least one more night, just one, Hawke was safe.


End file.
